Daelyn tiptoed through the servants' corridor. Rough stone scraped her hands as she fumbled through the darkness. Nobody used these passages anymore not the royal family, at least but she'd memorized every turn from those old blueprints tucked away in the library's forgotten corner.

  Just an hour. That's all she wanted. One hour of freedom.

  A rat skittered past her foot. She swallowed a scream, flattening herself against the cold wall until she could breathe again. Her silk gown caught on something sharp, making a hole that Alberta would notice.

  Tomorrow's problem.

  The passage ended at an ancient wooden door, warped from decades of neglect. Daelyn shoved her weight against it, shoulder aching until the thing finally budged. Night air rushed in, carrying rose scents and possibility.

  The gardens lay empty before her; no gardeners, no guards. Everyone bustled inside, preparing for that stupid gala tomorrow where she'd be paraded around like a prized cow, with men sizing up her family connections and treaty potential.

  She had 53 minutes exactly before Alberta checked her bedroom.

  53 minutes of not being Princess Daelyn of Wintergate.

  Just a girl named Daelyn.

  She kicked her slippers off and ran across the wet grass, dirt squishing between her toes. This feeling earth against bare feet, no royal bullshit was worth whatever hell she'd catch if they found her missing.

  Her hair came undone as she yanked out pins one by one, dropping them like tiny breadcrumbs. By the time she reached the pond's stone bench, she could hardly breathe, looked a mess, and felt more alive than she had in weeks.

  The water reflected a stranger not the prim princess from her palace portraits. This girl with wild hair and flushed cheeks felt more accurate.

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  "Midnight rebellion going well?"

  The voice made her blood freeze. Daelyn spun around, excuses already forming.

  Lucas stood at the garden's edge, his face half-hidden in moonlight. Brother. King. Warden.

  "How'd you find me?" she demanded, not bothering to fake remorse.

  "You're predictable." He stepped closer. "And there's dirt all over your dress. Again."

  "Gonna lecture me now?" Daelyn let the bitterness flow. "About princesses not running barefoot? About embarrassing the crown?"

  Lucas surprised her by sitting on the bench beside her. "I came to warn you. King Claremont showed up early. Brought his son with him."

  "Andrik?" The name felt odd on her lips. She'd heard plenty about Pilar's brother mostly scandals involving women across half the kingdoms. "Why should I care?"

  "Because he's staying with us all summer. For 'diplomatic negotiations.'"

  Daelyn's brief taste of freedom shattered. "The ENTIRE summer? Are you kidding me?"

  "Politics. Treaties. Same old garbage." Lucas watched her face carefully. "They're looking for you inside. I bought you 10 minutes by saying you were changing clothes." His gaze dropped to the rip in her silk gown. "Which, clearly, you need to."

  "I don't want to go back. Not yet."

  "You don't have a choice, D." His voice softened. "But listen, Andrik's father was asking about you."

  Dread pooled in her gut. "Me? Why me?"

  "Take a wild guess." Lucas's face darkened. "You're almost 18. You're not betrothed. And Claremont wants stronger connections with Wintergate."

  "No." The word shot out like a bullet. "Lucas, you PROMISED me. No arrangements until after my birthday. You swore I'd have time."

  "And I'm keeping that promise." He stood, hand extended. "But you should know what you're walking into. Claremont has his schemes. And that son of his..."

  "What about him?"

  "Just watch yourself around him. His reputation with women isn't exactly stellar."

  Daelyn nearly laughed. "I'm hardly at risk. I've never even been alone with a man who isn't related to me."

  "Keep it that way." Lucas's tone brooked no argument. "Now come on. Your future husband's waiting."

  "He's not my future ANYTHING," Daelyn muttered, letting him pull her to her feet.

  Walking back toward the palace, she felt her title settling back onto her shoulders like a lead cloak. Princess again. Property again.

  For a few precious minutes, she'd tasted freedom. Now the walls squeezed in tighter than before.

  But something defiant still burned in her chest. If King Claremont thought she'd be an easy political bargaining chip, he was dead wrong. And if his playboy son expected her to swoon over his royal charms, he had another thing coming.

  She'd play the perfect princess tonight. But behind her smile, she was already plotting her next escape.